


Tiger Rides Fox

by Lenia



Category: Marco Polo (TV)
Genre: Caught, Caught in the Act, Coitus Interruptus, Dubious Consent, First Time, Frottage, Heavenly and Primal, M/M, Missing Scene, Trolling Marco, poor jingim, trolling Byamba
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 22:02:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5602621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenia/pseuds/Lenia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prelude to battle: In where Jingim eats humble pie, Marco is caught up in the moment, and Byamba has horrible timing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lesser Of Two Evils

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR'S EVERYONE!!!! I wanna start mine with a bang by trying to write Tiger Rides Fox! I'm very heart broken that the new season won't come out until summer but hoping me writing this will fill the void. 
> 
> And thank you for Mischief11 for being my beta! I wouldn't have the balls to post this without you <3

Marco left the ger with a soft whooshing of the flaps behind him. His heart and mind still heavy with dread when watching the Great Khan writhed like a worm under the ministration of the healers. Seeing vulnerability and weakness of the Khan signals how dire this victory is for him and how desperate and beyond hope he is that he will rely on a foreign slave to save his empire. 

This should be a motivator for Marco as the Khan depended on a outsider's machines to bring these impenetrable walls down, yet Marco could only feel trepidation and fear. Not long ago the Khan wished for his body to be crushed by stampedes of horses for his astronomical error of the fiasco he made in Xiangyang before.

Now abandoning all hope and ignoring advices from toaist monks, he lay all his faith on Marco's shoulders. He is no simple pawn anymore of the Khans many pieces of his game, now Marco is the queen. The last piece to take the walls down. 

The Khans trump card.

In the game Marco was forced into playing, in the game he didn't know the rules for.

In a game he never asked to be part of.

He wished in all his heart to believe in his own words of hope for the empire will be victories as the sun will rise on the morrow. 

The walls _will_ crumble. It is already predestined as the trebuchets continuously hit the ancient massive structures. Little by little the flaming projectiles lit up the night sky and relentlessly hit the Great Wall and soon, by first light, the walls will fall before the Mongols. It was hard to swallow the trebuchets were the only thing that kept him tethered to this world. If it weren't for his accuracy in modeling the trebuchets in the prison cell, Yusuf's sacrifice and Talib's skillful engineers of Damascus, Marco would have been long dead.

A stabbing pain seized his heart as his thoughts traveled to the Khazarian man. Yusuf, who was the only man besides Byamba to convince the Khan not to spill Marco's blood for the gaping wound he left bleeding in Xiangyang. For all the losses Marco has caused, he truly believed in Marco's machines to the save the khanate. Perhaps. Yusuf may have seen the lingering naivety in Marco's eyes of the idealized vision of the great Mongol Empire's long dream of conquering China that Yusuf had long since lost. 

He was eternally grateful for Vice Regent Yusuf's sacrifice and prayed that his Allah is forever guarding his soul. 

The night air kissed his face and his ears were filled by the pounding of the cannons hitting the wall with no abandon. His heart lighten a little seeing his machines continued to do the work but he felt oddly sympathetic towards the walls that were being slowly destroyed. The Latin has always appreciate architect, it was his weakness to look for hours and hours and sketch their design. Now seeing this behemoth wall that has been existing perhaps as long since the time of gladiators. Pity it would soon crumble before their feet. 

Marco shook his head from his foolish thoughts of feeling sympathy towards an inanimate object. How absurd! This structure would soon fall meaning great victory for the Mongol empire! Marco's monstrous machines will ensure that and maybe, just maybe if Marco makes it out alive, he can beg Kublai to give Kokachin to him instead of the Prince. It seemed highly unlikely but he can only hope. 

His trebuchet were doing great damage to the walls as Talib and his group of the greatest engineers of Damascus continued to light up the cannon and hurls the projectiles. They don't need him anymore, as the fiery cannons continued to hurl at the walls, illuminating the sky like a shooting star. What a wondrous sight to behold.

 _It is going to be a long night_ , he grimaced. He should go back to the line instead of wandering about in the encampment. 

He sighted Byamba with a group of men huddled around the campfire with the soldiers and musicians, music emerging deep within their throats in a rough yet soothing melody. It was oddly comforting to Marco even if he did not know the words, it nonetheless soothe his nerves into a lull. The Latin made his way towards the huddled men, it was far too early for celebration. 

Byamba smiled and chanted with the composers, singing joyfully with a brilliant smile on his face and Marco briefly wonder where the Prince was. 

Finally noticing his presence, the crowd came to an utter halt, the composers stopped their instruments and the soldiers stopped their singing. All eyes were on him and Marco stood awkwardly.

_Oh lord_

It appeared he walked into some sort of pre battle Mongolian ceremony that Marco, a foreigner had no part in. Even if he did stay among them for almost six months in this land he was still an outsider in their eyes. in the end there was still no true place where he could say he truly belong to.

"Please," He said good naturally, forcing a sheepish smile on his face and sat down uneasily on a log. "Do not stop at my account!"

Silence. The soldiers and composures all sat and Marco began to sweat as they all gaped at him. He still had a fake smile plastered on his face while sitting awkwardly, unable to move. He wonder if he had time to walk away before he made a even bigger fool of himself already.

_"POLO!!!!"_

Marco recoiled at the chorus of cries of his name being chimed among the soldiers making him choke on his saliva in bewilderment. A swarm of men ran up to him and greeted the Latin with smiles and open arms.

Byamba was the one to latch on him first and pulled him into a bone crushing bear hug. "Marco!" His boisterous voice racked Marco's brain. "That was one amazing feat you pulled, brother!!!"

 _"What...?"_ He croaked, currently crushed against Byamba's chest.

"Yes!" An elder soldier stood up and spoke, “I thought for one moment all was lost too us during the first launching. I would have soon gut you if you failed. but you have finally came through, Latin. Gratitude." 

_"Uukhai!!!"_

Battle cries rang among the soldiers as bowls of airag were raised up in the air. Marco's Adams apple convulsed shakily as he swallowed by the mans words. Rethinking that moment. If that frightening outcome _did_ happened, Marco would have soon turn his blade on himself to spare himself of that humiliation of his failure before the soldiers would have a chance for their swords to have a drop of his blood. 

"Yes um... I am most gracious that did not happen” He stammered trying to squirm out of Byamba's crushing embrace. He did not know what to say to this, “You all flatter me! But I would have not succeeded without the help of the Great Khans engineers." 

"Don't be so coy, Latin!" Another soldier spoke up and pulled Marco into a headlock, “It may have been the engineers who build the machines but it was your idea for them to build that beautiful monstrosity of a catapult."

Cries of agreement followed.

 _Trebuchets_ , He internally corrected. It was no use to argue, even if he was half right. Truth be told he was the one to come up with the illustrations of the machines during his last moments of life in the dungeon. It was out of sheer desperation his muse came to him of his time of need to model trebuchets in the concrete floor of his cell.

However he could not take away of all the sweat and blood the Persian engineers who spend day and night to make his machines out of the scribbles of his journal.

Especially Talib.

Of all those sleepless, stress inducing nights it was Marco and the Persians who stayed awake to painstakingly trying to construct the trebuchets. Trial and error, numerous failed attempts and arguing. Lots and lots of arguing. How many times had he and Talib butted heads that would make his every interaction with Jingim seem civil in comparison?

The fights got extremely ugly, Marco remembered at one point being so frustrated from sleep deprivation and stress, he threatened Talib that he would use him as cannon fodder to be hurled at the wall.

Despite the grueling labor of construction the trebuchets, Marco is still just a cog working for a much larger machine.

"Yes" he weakly protested, trying to dislodge his head from the Mongolians grip. "But it seems far too early for celebration...!"

"He's right!"

A deep voice called out behind him, making the hairs on his neck stand erect. Laughter and chattered ceased with all the attention now surrounding the golden Prince.

Prince Jingim stood with all the radiance of the sun in the night light. The man's body was clad in heavy golden armor and fur with a fierce tiger snarl emblem on his chest plate. His hair was not held up in his signature bun, instead woven into intricate braids, wild and unkempt, it tumbled past down his shoulders. His handsome face had grown stubble on his upper lip and chin, a far cry from his clean smooth features. It gave him a more rugged edge but the term "manly" might be a better fit to the sight before him.

The man looked magnificent.

He looked just as true a Mongol as every man around him.

"The night of celebration is far too premature as of late!" The men slowly scattered away from Marco and set their bowls of airag down and placed their whole attention to Jingim.

"It is not the time to be guzzling airag down our throats! The Song may have ceasefire on us, but that does not _mean_ they've surrendered. We must prepare ourselves for any attack and head to the front line. The last thing we should be doing is sitting around, acting like we've won when the walls have not yet fallen!" He angrily berated his soldiers and they all bowed with shame written on their faces as they scattered.

"Now!" Jingim straightened, "Ulagan, take twenty men to guard the engineers!" He turned to another man and pointed, “Gal, take at least ten men to guard my father, Bora, go scout the left perimeter for any blind spots! Byamba, take the rest of the soldiers down to the front line and have the younger ones in the back!" He barked out the orders and the group of men quickly dispersed to follow the Prince designated instructions.

Marco was the only one left standing in front of the Prince. Instead of staring wide eyed he should have went with Byamba and the rest of the men.

"And Master Polo." The Latin froze as if he were doused in cold water. Jingim’s face was stone cold, with his eyes burning like black coal, “You’re coming with me."

With this he turned and began to walk away, his ember brown cape swept behind him as his dark hair fluttered in the wind. He did not bother glancing back at the Latin when he began to walk.

Marco stayed in place a beat longer until he found the strength to move his legs to follow the Prince's brisk pace. He kept two or three feet distance between them just in case the Prince decided to whip out his sword and chase him around the steppes.

The Latin kept a tight hand on his hilt, preparing for any attack that could arise, or if Jingim wanted to challenge him to a duel as he did back in the dojo. If so, his days imprisoned in the Cambulac trained him to expect the unexpected.

Marco’s observation was his true key of survival in this land to navigate any danger he may face.

Marco faced dangers that could easily lead to death but none compared to the Prince. How many times had the man's throat met the end of Jingim's sword? With deadly accuracy and precision he could have strike him down before Marco knew what happened. During their walk, Marco was silent trying to best ignore his battering heart. He observed the man before him, the Khan son's walk was more of a prowling tiger than his usual graceful stride.

They continued to walk past the canvases of tents and horses.

The families gathered around the fireplace were mostly women and children of the soldiers who were left behind. He hoped Kokachin was among them and followed him to Xiangyang. But Marco knew deep down she was still at the Cambulac and he hoped she would stay there until he returned from battle.

 

Finally they came to the entrance to Jingim’s ger near the back of the camp. The Prince opened the flaps and slipped inside and the Latin followed suit.

The air was surprisingly dry and muggy inside compare to the night cool breeze from the outside. It was pretty spacious but a tad smaller than the Khan but no less grand, it still gave an air of royalty with the golden lining of the golden tapestries that hung from ceiling. The tent was lit up by three lit braziers giving the room a soft merry glow upon the pallet bed. The lights truly gave one the sort of cozy feeling that Marco thought he might never experience again if Jingim’s attitude was anything to go by.

The Prince walked further to the middle of tent and made his way around the council table. Marco positioned himself on the opposite side and glanced down on the table. Papers were messily scattered filled with crude drawings of hastily battle strategies and little scribbles of stick figures that are meant to be the soldiers in the line, but there was small creatures on the drawings that Marco finds himself stuck staring at trying to decipher what it was. It had two circles for the head and body with long legs, pointy ears and a long tail. He tilted his head trying to figure out what it was. He couldn't tell if it was a cat or a horse.

 _The Prince is certainly no artist_ he thought a bit smugly.

Marco tried to lessen his nerves remembering their duel back at the Cambulac, however it does seem unlikely Jingim drawing his sword inside his tent. He would've done so already when they were outside. The Prince drummed his fingers on his mahogany desk, his posture was rigid and his expression strained.

Jingim's lips were pressed into a firm line, his eyes never leaving Marco. The Latin squared his shoulders trying not waver from the elder's scrutinizing gaze and meeting head on, staring back at those seething dark chestnut eyes of his. Surly the Prince didn't just drag him to his tent for a staring contest.

It took him some time to take in Jingim's new appearance, he looked almost feral and eager for war with his hair in braids, spilling over his shoulder like every single Mongol Marco has seen so far. He could count with one hand how many times he seen Jingim with his hair down was when they first journeyed together in Karakoram and the other when the Prince unleashed his declaration of war to the demons of the night when the khanate was invaded. No longer his hair was bound and restricted he now looked liberated.

Free.

The braziers illuminated the room, the light reflected his armor making the man glow right before Marco with radiance and scorching ferocity of the sun inside the small tent.

For a long moment the room was filled with stagnant silence until the Prince heaved a exasperated sigh.

"I am many things but a man who cannot admit his errors and attempt some form of atonement isn’t one of them."

He spoke in a low tone and Marco could only blink in question. This was...unexpected. The Prince was showing humility, especially towards him was surprisingly enough. He was going to play a dangerous game but he must hear it!

“What are you trying to say, Prince?”

Jingim twitched in annoyance as his frown depends but took a breathe before continuing.

"I was wrong in believing your intentions were anything but noble and your loyalty not to our Khan. I willingly sent you to your death when you were innocent and for that I am _sorry_." He grumbled intently, his eyes smoldering.

Marco clenched his jaw with every ounce of inner strength he had from his lips from curling into a smile like a mischievous school boy who skipped church. He was enjoying this far more than he should watching the Prince squirm with his half hearted apologize as if it _pained_ him to lower himself to the likes of some poor slave like him. Jingim's lips were twisted as if he eaten something that was foul to his pallet and he had to forcibly swallow it down before he can get any relief from it.

Was seeing the error of his ways really that degrading to Jingim? Was his pride so important that he was willing to let Marco die to prove he was right? 

Marco felt anger fuel him now as fingers clawed the table, his knuckles turning white from the effort to keep his composure in check. Marco remembered all the times Prince went out of his way prove him guilty, ignored his plea and went down in his prison to rub salt in his wounds when he was waiting to die! And to add insult to injury, he was going to marry the woman he love who longed to return to her soft embrace. 

The Latin has never been vindictive, it's not that he wanted Jingim to grovel at his feet and kiss his boots, but anything better than a forced out apology would be ideal. And yet, getting under the Prince's skin was as foolish and dangerous as poking an irate bear with a stick, with the same lethal repercussions would be the end result. Yet he couldn't help himself and Marco has always been a fool.

"I don't understand, prince? Why are you apologizing to me now?” He ask with his voice feigning innocence as the Prince's jaw clenched. Why did he like the black fire shining in Jingim's eyes?

"If you had died than your blood would be on my hands! You deserve a apology and you will have it before the battle incase blood is spilt!" The Prince's eyes were flashing dangerously now, almost making Marco backtrack his little game. Knowing if he kept this up he would surly lose a head.

"Is that the only reason you are apologizing? Because of the battle tomorrow?" Marco asked in a fake hurt voice. Is that the only reason so his unjustly death won't cloud Jingim's conscience so he can sleep peacefully at night? He wanted to say but wisely didn't.

"No!" The Prince bit out than retreated, as though surprised by his own raise in volume as he was. "No." He said in a more gentler tone. "That is not the only reason. I would still have apologized to you without a doubt. Besides, I would have not taken pleasure in seeing a man condemn to death of a crime he was innocent of!"

A soft gasp escape him in hearing every ounce of regret dripping from Jingim's lips. Calming himself, Jingim clenched his fist and let out a shuddering sigh.

He gazed at Marco his eyes never fleeting, he looked as if he were fighting an inner battle and losing miserably.

"Without sympathy and not feeling guilty for our crimes what separates us from animals?" He asked softly.

"Prince?" Marco asked genuinely in question, completely dropping his game.

Jingim swallowed thickly before continuing, "It is not the only reason why I summoned you here just to bore you an apology," he reaching over to his right of the table and Marco first time noticing a small leather pouch. Jingim untied the strands, "But to deliver this" and Marco’s mouth went dry when the Prince held up a golden tablet that seemed to twinkle from the fire light.

"I'm sure you are familiar what this is" he murmured wagging the tablet with his wrist lightly. He recoiled with protest of questioned bubbled in Marco's throat, he found himself unable to speak. Only soft explosive fragments that were meant to be words left his lips were only incoherent mumbles. "Please let me finish!" Jingim cuts him off and Marco is silent.

"What you did for us, for the khanate. You gave us a beacon of hope for a victory that we never been close to having until now."He said vehemently with his eyes shining with pride that was towards him. His mind was racing trying to process his words. Marco swallows, trying to find his voice, "It was only for my grievous burden to atone for the wounds I left bleeding in Xiangyang."

The Latin tried not to wince at how painfully small, lost and confused he sounded as the Prince just smiled softly at him, "And your burden has been lifted", He reassured him. "Not only have you mended the scars in Xiangyang but you also mended mine!"

His heart was pounding in his chest and Marco was afraid it would burst inside. The Latin thought he might stop breathing when the Prince walked to his side of the table and reached for Marco's motionless hand. His looked into his eyes with his brows forward in intensity, "I am giving you a rare golden opportunity to leave here." He said intently as Jingim's stuffed the tablet into Marco's hand and folding his fingers over it, as though Jingim thought that Marco lost the motor functions to do it at his own accord. At this point Jingim is not wrong.

"You are no longer a prisoner here", He continued," You can return to Cambulac and grab your belongings or leave with the clothes on your back, because from now on you're officially a free man!"

Marco let the words sink in, he stood unmoving, trembling. He eyed stupidly at man as the Prince's hand still held his own. Jingim's hands were surprisingly much larger than his own. Calloused and scarred, they were hands of a warrior that were molded by the ways of the sword since birth. Roughed in the surface, strong and unrelenting, yet he held Marco's hand tenderly as if he were a maiden.

Marco felt his cheeks burn.

He shook his head momentarily losing track of his thoughts, "Prince this is...very gracious of you," The Latin licked his lips nervously, "But what about the Khan? Your father? Surly he will know that I'm missing?" He tried to reason. This was far too good to be true concerning his luck this far!

Jingim shakes his head and smiles confidently, "Do not worry about my father. I am the Prince and so I have as much authority as The Great Khan to grant my subjects freedom. He will understand. Probably." He gives a passive shrug and looked down at their hands.

Jingim blinked and withdrew his hands, just realizing he still held Marco's. His gaze and tone became suddenly wistful, “You have given my people what they need to win this war and now I am giving you what you need to take your freedom. Ride swiftly to Venice, Master Polo, and May your God be with you."

For the longest time Marco did not move from his place as he stare at the tablet in his hand. His hands were sweating, gripping it tightly, losing feeling in his knuckles. He was too stunned to speak, to stunned to _think_. This was not what he anticipated, especially not from the Prince of all people. He felt guilty for not giving Jingim enough credit for his generosity. But what if this was a test? Was the Prince testing his loyalty? Did the Prince have a hidden agenda for Marco to prove himself if he was worthy of freedom? Was the tablet even real? It surly felt real, it was quite heavy and his eyes traced the golden characters of the Khans name. It had to be real since it would be quite cruel if Jingim were playing a joke or giving him false hope. Marco did not know anything anymore.

It's not like this was the first time the Latin has had a window of opportunity to gain his freedom. Kokachin was the first for one when the Khan was dancing between life and death, she went as far to orchestrate an escape plan when he was preparing to leave with the other soldiers. Even Byamba, his first true friend and ally had tried to release Marco from his invisible bonds when they've returned from paradise.

And now the Prince is opening the door for his freedom no matter the consequences he may face. Marco suddenly felt a fear crawl into his mind at the idea of Jingim getting in trouble of going behind his father for freeing Marco. What would the outcome be for him? He wasn't even sure, Jingim wasn’t either. He was truly at a lost.

Marco looked down at the tablet as his mind screamed at him. As Jingim said this was a rare golden opportunity and he shouldn't waste it. How many other men who were held prisoners against their will by the Khan and were as pets? How many men were given a chance to taste freedom? Quite a few perhaps if not none. The only way to truly have freedom he learned is through death by the Vice Regent Yusuf.

But now he has a golden tablet that has been bestowed upon him by royalty. He is now free. Marco can finally leave his prison...he can...

_He can leave with Kokachin._

His mind was racing, his hands trembled at the mere thought. Yes, of course! The tablet wasn't just for free lodging but an integral instrument of their survival. It was a safe guard for protection from thieves and bandits that lurked in the deserts to ensure them safe passage. Marco can ride back to the Cambulac, release Kokachin from her chains and they can leave! They can now finally be together! He can show her the Silk Road, travel to different places, explore other countries, and learn new languages! He can broaden her worldview. Marco can take her on an adventure, traveling together side by side! He can have the adventure he always wanted and be with the woman he loved. 

But there was doubt in his heart that would not fade. If he were to take Kokachin, what would happened then? The khanate would surly notice her absence, especially Jingim, who was to marry her. If he left with the Princess suspicion will rise if both disappeared at the same time. It would seem likely Marco had kidnapped the Princess and the Mongol soldiers will forever be on their heels as they run. With his face and visage of being the only white man in Asia he will draw attention where ever they go and risk of capture will be exceptionally high. They would become fugitives. No rest, no peace, living in constant fear of capture and the threat of death weighing over their heads as they tried to run.

How long will they run? How far will they go? How far can they go? 

His heart whispered poisonous questions of doubt and uncertainty that he did not know the answers too. Marco couldn't possibly predict the outcome, except a horrible painful death if they were ever captured! Not only would Marco be executed for kidnapping the Crowned Prince's fiancé but Kokachin as well when the court figures out her true identity. She has been masquerading as a dead person for who knows how long, fooling the great Khan with her ploy. Such a crime would surely get her executed for fraud. 

Even if they managed to escape? By the time they climbed the Hindu Kush it would most likely be snowing and Marco knew full well how the forces of nature hated travelers. He can't put Kokachin at that type of risk. 

Slowly the crushing reality weighed upon his chest. There was no way out. He can think of many possibilities but in the end death is the only outcome to all this. He couldn't do it.

Everything he seen, the bonds he shared, and the experiences he had was everything he hoped and wanted of an adventure. He ventured on foreign lands, met extraordinary people from Kings, lords to blinded monks, fought and survived battles, and made friends and enemies alike. It was the adventure he always wanted and he wouldn't trade it for the world so why leave? 

After a long time he finally gazed up at the Prince with a thousand answers and questions on his tongue. Jingim's eyebrows were risen in anticipation and Marco found himself drawn to Jingim's dark mercurial eyes, lost in the depths of emotions swirling in them. His eyes are shining, overflowing in longing and he could see himself being reflected back in them. 

He does not know what to say. His mind is numb and the Prince does not say anything. 

He waits for Marco's answer with his lips tightened and hands clenched in a tight fist. 

His heart is pounding. 

Staring at those eyes, Marco's instincts urge him on and he listens. 

He can't leave, he must stay by the Prince on the field. 

Marco felt feverish, his hands are slippery, and Jingim still waited his answer. 

He licks his lips, his decision is unanimous. 

He feels the opportunity of freedom slip from his fingers and finds he does not mind. 

He opens his mouth and gave his answer around his voice cracking. 

"I cannot." 


	2. Ultimatum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I did this on my lunch period so it's a bit short but here you go! Thank you Mischief11!!!! (◕‿◕✿)

In a moment of clarity it feels right, however the Prince still stares at him with incredulous written on his face. He does not know why or perhaps he doesn't notice himself shaking for the Prince to believe his answer. Marco hears his little voice in his head praising him for his decision and his heart hammering in his chest, his instincts tell him he drew his cards right.

"Are you certain?" Jingim says steadily, he narrowed his eyes his words filled with doubt.

Trying to make his answer as believable and convincing as possible; 

Marco gave a small, hesitant, stiff nod.

"Unbelievable", Jingim whispered, shaking his head in astonishment," I am releasing you from your bondage so you can regain your freedom." The Prince stepped closer to Marco until he smelled the light scent of airag lingering in Jingim's breath. 

"Isn't this what you wanted, to not be a prisoner here?" The man growled, his eyes are blazing gripping Marco's arm. His fingers scrunched his wood brown tunic, shaking him roughly as if to bring Marco to his senses. "I am giving you freedom that most men would die for, so you _stay?!_

"If I run where would I go?!" He didn't mean to shout just realizing his rise of volume match the Prince's tone. He jerked his arm away from Jingim's grip.

He felt a strong repressed rage fill him up coming arise instantly towards the man. Too long he's been pushed by Jingim, too long he's been nothing more than a outlet for the Prince's rage. He gritted his teeth the air around them growing hotter from the hostile tension surrounding them. Very fitting for the battle looming outside.

"North China and Venice is not one horse ride away from each other separated by the steppes! It took me long three _years_ to get where I am and I'm not going to turn back when I've made it this far!" Marco countered back. His retaliation only made Jingim angrier.

Jingim hissed, grabbing Marco by the arms and shaking him. Suddenly frightened Marco tried to step back but the Prince swung him around so he was trapped against the table.

“You are not traveling the way you came, Polo. If you don’t take this chance than you are a fool.” Jingim growled in Marco’s face. Marco only leaned back against the table with fear and rage clouding his judgment as his eyes bore down at the enraged Prince. Marco stood on his full height, having an inch of a advantage over Jingim. He was cornered like a fox. But cornered foxes can still bare their fangs against their predator.

"What are _you_ going to do if I don't leave?" Marco provoked coolly. "Chase me all the way back to Venice?" At this point Marco wasn't sure if he completely lost his mind or if he gone suicidal. But he was not going to stop there, oddly admiring Jingim's face twisting like a snarling wolf that sent confused fluttering in his belly.

"Do not tempt me, Polo!", Jingim spat, "You are destroying your chance of your freedom!" his finger's gripping him tightly until it became painful. The Prince's face darkened considerably as his thick eyebrows casted a shadow over his features. His eyes glaring down at him, glistening like a well polished blade. 

_"Why do you even care?!"_ Marco asked bitterly, his well repressed accent bubbling in the surface,"Why do you care if I am destroying my chance?! I am not leaving _you!"_

Only a second later Marco realized the monumental mistake he made as the words had flew from his lips.

The Latin was not able to say anything but could only stare into the Prince’s eyes that had soften considerably yet still burned with passion. Without thinking Marco’s eyes dropped down to Jingim’s lips and he sucked in his breath when he realized how close they were to his. The finger’s tightened on his shoulders causing Marco to look back up to the Prince who had the look of a starving man, looking at Marco as if he were a roasted boar on a pike, waiting to be devoured. 

It seemed time slowed down as the two men stared each other down and if someone asked Marco later who leaned in first he would not have been able to tell them. The hand on one of his shoulders moved to the nape of his neck as lips meet and teeth clashed in a passionate embrace.

As always the Prince strikes first, his tongue breaching Marco's quivering lips demanding entrance. His eyes fly open as the Prince thrusting himself inside him. Just as he fights with swift deadly swings and quick jabs with his sword Jingim's tongue prodded roughly at his mouth and his tongue sliding along side his.

Marco lets out a strangled squeak of surprise, his skin shivering up and breaking out in gooseflesh, he feels heat descend down his lower belly and spreading throughout his body and down to his loins.

His mind screams. His survival instincts engage into high gear with adrenaline pumping in his veins. It tells him to thrash, ward off the offender and fight back, instead Marco holding on to Jingim's armor to steady himself. His fingers curling into the tiger emblem shoulder pads while Jingim grips his hips tightly.

Their lips clashed, fear and excitement cloud his mind as he finds himself losing to the primal forces ranging inside him as he feels the Prince wind his fingers on the back of his head and tugs his hair. Marco does the same his fingers tangle themselves strands of thick midnight hair as his braids comes apart.

His mind and body are at war knowing this is the last thing he should be doing. The very last thing. He's losing himself to the passion he's losing himself to Jingim. He feels the man's lips dominating his, the soft fuzz of his chin brush against his own scruffy beard. Absurdly it felt if he were kissing a kiwi, yet instead of tasting the tangy sweet nectar, he tasted a hint of airag and other taste that is exclusively Jingim. It is to late to turn back now having made it this far. He is not someone to turn back on a challenge, especially the one who is challenging is Jingim.

The Latin feels himself growing bolder as he coils his tongue against the Prince trying to catch his rhythm. Strong and unrelenting, Jingim kissing the same way he fights. He is far less aggressive than Khutulun but a bit more forceful than Kokachin's.

Dizzy with heat and desire, Marco did not notice until to late his tailbone bumped against the edge of the table. Jingim pushes forward making Marco gasp breaking their kiss toppling over the table. Papers are scattered dropping lightly on the floor like leaves of fall.

Marco is panting half his body is splayed on the table with his hips and legs awkwardly hanging from the end.

The slightly shorter man staggers, his lips are parted panting heavily leaning his hands on the table for support. His brown eyes bright lustful, black hair in tangles surrounding his flushed face as he gazes down on Marco with pure heat and want.

Marco shifts on the table, his body aflame with desire for the man who held him.

Sensing his discomfort, Jingim grips Marco's hips lifting him more so on the table that now he's completely splayed. Once the Latin is settled, Jingim slid between his spread legs, running his hands up firm his thighs until they rested on his slim hips. Feeling Jingim’s heated body against his groin made Marco groaned as he involuntarily rocked his body up looking for more friction.

Marco gasped and inhaled sharply feeling the Prince's full weight plus the possible fifty or seventy pounds of his armored body crushing him as Jingim held him down controlling Marco's every move.

The Prince settles on top, without preamble his lips descend, kissing Marco furiously. Their tongues battle, he feels Jingim's hair curtaining his face, he's surrounded by the musky scent of sweat, salt, and airag. He twist his body violently beneath him to push the Prince off him, to desperately trying to find leverage to divest Jingim's attacks. Finding himself in a starkly similar position with Khutulun, as his legs dangle uselessly around Jingim.

Finally, Jingim pulls away, he's red faced and panting shallowly,"I find your struggling very amusing, Latin!" He whispers hotly against his lips "Cute even!"

A new fire alighting within Marco. He glared at those eyes dancing filled with mirth at his attempts of breaking free. He will show him how _cute he was!_

"Than let me amuse you further!" He growled wrapping his legs around Jingim's waist making him gasp in surprise.

 

_**Appear weak when you are strong** _

 

Something Marco learned with his lesson with Hundred Eyes. The teachings of the Chinese philosopher Sun Tzu became remarkably useful. It helped him survived in battles and other situations, _however_ having a squirming Jingim between his legs was _not_ the other situations he had anticipated. 

The Prince is gripping his thighs trying break free from Marco's strong legs making him vulnerable for an attack. Marco launched himself off the table by his elbows and wrapped his arms around Jingim's shoulders.

"Tell me my Prince, how does it feel to be the end of my struggle?", Marco shuddered at his own husky quality of his voice. He tugged Jingim's earlobe, chewing it lightly, tasting the natural salt and the masculine edge to his sweat.

Jingim let out a shaky moan as Marco unskillfully and sloppily trailed hot kisses down his throat, scraping his teeth around his collarbone inside the tunnel of his armor. The Prince's hitched his breathing becoming heavier as he let out a shuddering gasp and a sharp cry. His reaction.

 _Electrifying_.

The Prince laughed huskily sending delightful shivers down Marco's spine, "You should know better to not get your hope's up, Marco".

The sound of his own name coming out of Jingim's wet lips made his cock harden.

"At end of _your_ struggle? If anything Sifu has failed to teach you is to never- ," He reached Marco's arms and slammed them above his head on the table. His victory short lived. "fool yourself into a false sense of security even when you think you have the upper advantage," Jingim grounded his hips rubbing his groin against Marco, making the man fling his head back and cry out.

Jingim laughed and a sardonic smile played on his lips, "Since the moment you crawled into my father's court you have never left my mind.,"He growled into his neck his lips biting at his scruffy throat, "I tried my best to keep my thoughts of you at bay. Your very existence has been a grievous burden on my heart and I tried to keep you beneath me!" Jingim bit hard on Marco's neck making him scream.

Jingim pulls away smirking and Marco snarled at him defiantly.

 

_**And appear strong when you are weak** _

 

"But a part of you wants it!" He growled as he lapped at his neck ignoring Marco's feeble attempts of escaping.

“Is this what you want, Marco? Want me against you?” Jingim says his mouth on his ear as he thrust against his struggling body under him. The pressure on his loins becoming too much as the Prince continued mercilessly grind his hips on his clothed cock. _Too much_ his mind screams, Marco wants alleviate pressure on his weeping manhood before it became too painful. Offering no resistance of his abandon he submitted himself to defeat.

"Yes Jingim, please!" Marco begged his legs gripping him tighter around the Prince’s waist. Jingim leaned down and kissed Marco with just as much teeth as lips while he continually rubbed his groin against the Latin’s.

He rocked his hips against Jingim, Marco's legs held him close moving his pelvis in a rocking motion to get more of that delicious friction.

The pressure too much both pulled away and moaned in unison.

Jingim's sweat rained down his face as he leaned forward to capture his lips. Marco moaned as Jingim kissed him, gentler this time before pulling away gasping. They breathed each other's air, the room around them blazing and Marco felt he is melting inside his armor.

The Latin shudders in every hot breath as his hands delved down to hike up his tunic above his hips to feel more of Jingim's body against him.

Jingim grasping his hips tugging him down to meet his thrust in time, he shudders feeling the growing wetness spreading underneath his trousers feeling the heat of Jingim's shaft rubbed against his tender flesh.

Marco's holding on to Jingim for dear life, he does not want to let go and Jingim makes no attempts to remove him. They thrust frantically against each other both feeling the growing heat consume them. They rocked and Marco's desires intensifies when Jingim's thrusting grows insistent and sharp as Marco bucks his hips meeting in time to catch his rhythm. 

They are rocking together, their moves synchronized to an unknown dance to a soundless beat but their own.

The ger was filled with their shuddering gasps, broken moans, and clanking of armor. Marco's fingers tangling themselves to the Prince's hair. He does not want this to stop but a small voice in his head tells him he should.

Anybody could catch them.

They are in a middle of a war inside a ger.

The flaps were somewhat parted and anyone could slip inside to find him tangled in the arms of the Prince.

War is looming soon and the soldiers must be concern where was their dear Prince? The thrill of being caught with the Prince made each touch more exhilarating.

Jingim's thrusting becomes faster, harder, more erratic, making the table beneath them wobble and jerk by his movements. Marco is panting as Jingim breaths his name like a prayer in his ear. The Prince is becoming desperate as he moves and he feels is own release coming to great him soon.

_"Marco. Marco. Marco!"_

The air is thick, Jingim's groaning his name in a mantra. It makes Marco cling to him tighter, his ankles locking around his waist. Gasping, exhaling he sees white spots dance around his vision, he shudders every breath of Jingim's thrust. He curls his toes inside his boots and chokes down a sob that comes in a form of Jingim's name.

He is burning. He's loosing himself to the fire inside that is threatening to spill out of him. Jingim moves down giving Marco a deep burning kiss while rocking onto him, hands tangled in Marco's sweat matted hair, clinging to him. Sweat is dripping down Marco's eyes and he closes them as he grits his teeth.

Longer, harder, faster, and Marco bites down on arm, his teeth scrunching his tunic to stifle his own moans and whimpers of breath with each clank of Jingim's body pressed against his.

The Prince's moans increases higher and higher emitting deep within his throat as he sang out his name. The wetness is spreading, his blood is boiling, his release is coming.

_"J...jingim..."_

He says his name in a shaky whisper.

Breath taking, all consuming the fire greets him. As his fire begins to spill and everything came into a screeching halt when the tent flaps opened!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**MUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!**_ Sorry not sorry but I'll update later this week or month :)


	3. Divine Retribution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jingim may be a bitch but he's actually just a lovesick puppy ;__;

Calmness before the storm, something Byamba was very well familiar with of the battle looming in front of him. Heart and mind were filled with trepidation as the moon sat lingering high above the night sky.

 

_It is going to be a long night._

 

He grimaced sulking on his steed while the men of the Golden Horde gathered around him with torches in their hands. The fire's illuminated the steppes glowing brilliantly over the lands, casting away the darkness that threaten to consume them.

 

Byamba's heart leaped with every merciless blow of the flaming projectiles bombarding the walls. Them hurling across the field like a shooting star stirred some childish superstition of an omen of death weighting over him. One soldier on his right spat over his shoulder "Not my star," he said jokingly while others around him laughed along. 

 

He drank heavily gulping down airag from his water skin to quell his nerves and attempting to keep the mask of the harden Mongol warrior in place. His men depended on him since his brother seemed to have disappeared with the Latin in toll somewhere. Byamba noticed his absence when he did not appear with the rest of the soldiers on the front line by the Prince's commands. After the successful launch of the trebuchets, flurries hope for victory swept over the men, women, and children and Byamba could not help but feel swayed along with them. 

 

It was far too early for celebration even with his concerns being lifted by the taste of airag and his ears drowning by the Morin khuur of their instruments and the Batzorig Vaanchig by singing of the composers.

 

 _Don't ride back with captured horses, just ride_ _**back**_

 

Her last words still echoed in his ears from the last he saw of her after her tribe was banished. He can still smell her natural woodsy fragrance of the steppes and could still feel the loose hair from her braids tickling his cheek.

 

_Come with me_

 

Khutulun's eyes were wide, pleading yet he could not turn away from the khanate. The Khan. His father. Byamba knows his place and acquiescing Khutulun knows also. Of every blow to the walls, the rising hope of victory serge within him more and more however it did not get rid of the gnawing anxiety he still felt as if a cloud of dread still hung over his head. 

 

What if the walls fell, would it still be another blood bath as it was for Xiangyang? Wuchang? Will he still be haunted in his nightmares of the death cries of his fallen comrades? Those baleful thoughts did not leave him as Jingim's haunted eyes flashed in his mind. Pang of guilt stabbed him as it was his provoking that pushed Jingim into making a reckless decision to rush into battle despite being pitifully outnumber in Wuchang. It would have been wiser to retreat but his Mongol pride blinded him lead to nearly cost the Prince's life. He looked so small and broken as his wounds bled profusely down Jingim's arms like a red stream of death.

 

Marco's eyes wide, glassy with unshed tears as he knelt on his knees before their feet, shivering like a small scared child. His voice brittle while he apologized for unknowingly leading their brothers to death as he were Erlik: The God Of Death leading the Mongols to their demise. 

 

Round tearful eyes gazed up at him dumbfounded as he deflected Jingim's blade. He had owed a debt to this man who courageously saved him by bargaining his life when the Old Man's disciples held a knife to his throat. He had rewarded him by offering to fake Marco's death in order so he may return to Venice. The Latin refused for reasons he did not know but he knew he must protect this man from the court, his brother and even the Khan himself. 

 

He couldn't shake off the nervousness when he saw his brother walking with the Latin to his ger. It's not like the Prince will execute him away from prying eyes. He had no reason to for his machines lifted every misfortune Marco has caused. By the time they (hopefully) win, the man will be lorded for his trebuchets will make the walls crumble and victory theirs.

 

Angry cries and commotion broke out disturbing Byamba's musing as sudden wave of panic took over him. _Are we being attacked?_ He didn't know what caused ruckus at the end of the line of soldiers so he steered his horse making his way shuffling pass the men and horses to the back of the line. 

 

"What is going on?!" Byamba yelled orotundity, his expression tight while gripping his battle hammer, preparing to smash any Chinese rebels that somehow creeped past them. His gaze wavered at the bemused expression of the soldiers as their formations were somewhat disperse. 

 

One soldier spoke, “Nothing to be concerned about, brother! Öng just gotten himself drunk and took his clothes off running around naked!" He chuckled.

 

Byamba felt a headache forming. He _hated_ Öng! That fool always managed to get himself drunk and fought nude in battles! Not only was he a huge distraction to the soldiers but that Byamba can't never beat him in a drinking game. Wishfully he hoped he will die so Byamba won't have to pay him fifty möngö he still owed him.

 

"Then see to him! I will not have him giving away our position!" Byamba ordered tightly, trying to intimate the Prince's commanding voice. 

 

"Too late. We already have a group of men chasing after him." The soldier spook dryly, motioning his thumb behind him. Byamba looked over his shoulder seeing the naked man running around the encampment, scaring the women and children with irritated soldiers chasing him. 

 

He inhaled in vexation. Not only he was drunk but Öng was very difficult to catch. "Since that's settled, I want all of you to get back in your place! The night may be long and arduous but morning will come soon and we must be prepared for the siege a head of us." Loud and commanding, Byamba straighten himself high on his horse, “Everyone get back to your positions! No distraction will fall before us now!"

 

He barked out orders too soon as a short porky Persian man huffed and puffed his way to the line of soldiers. 

 

“Where is the Latin?!” 

Byamba closed his eyes and groaned.

_Why Tengri?_

 

"Where is the distress? What is happening?" He asked, recognizing the head engineer.

 

"The trebuchets..." He huffed"... two of them have been malfunctioning on their aim... at the nearest strong hold...", The man said red faced and breathy, he was doubled over with his hands on his knees.

 

Eruption of mummers of the soldiers around Byamba when the man finished speaking. No, the trebuchets cannot fail them! If they did than Marco's head would be rolling on the steppes. His machines were the only thing keeping him breathing. 

 

"We need the Latin's notes to fix the damages. The European designs are foreign to me since this is not an ordinary ballista!" The porky man continued.

 

"I don't understand. Two of the machines may be functioning but you still have four more of the trebuchets which more than we need!" Byamba said confidently.

 

"Yes, that may be true," the Persian shook his head," but the Song archers up in the wall took advantage of our halting progress and began shooting at us!" 

 

Bewildered cries exploded around them. The idea of victory seemed fleeting now since the trebuchets were the only hope they had for saving the khanate! 

 

_This night cannot get any worse!_

 

"Very well, I'll send more of my men to guard you!" Byamba barked out to the soldiers of at least seven to gather around the Persian engineer.

 

"Gratitude," He nodded his head vigorously," May you fetch the Latin for me please? I would find him myself but I have no idea of where his tent is!“ He did not want to leave his soldiers by their lonesome but he decided to bite the arrow.

 

"Very well, I'll find him." With this the man nodded in thanks again as his soldiers gathered around him and hurriedly made their way to the engineers.

 

"Is everything alright?" He heard Nakhu say behind him. "No." Byamba answered honestly swerving his horse to the other soldier.

 

"I'm giving you an order, look after the men. I have to find my brother and the Latin. Stay in command until I return."

 

The man bowed turning to the soldiers and gave his commands. With this, Byamba galloped making his way to his brothers and the Latin's general direction to the encampment. Quickly finding the Prince's ger he dismounted his horse on the left, quickly strolling to the tent but soon felt a strange air surround it. 

 

He heard distinct voices and soft moans. Byamba flushed red in embarrassment, recognizing Jingim's voice drifted outside the tent flaps that were parted open slightly. He was sure that Sorga stayed behind in Cambulac with the Empress! He didn't know who was there with him nor did he care. They didn't have time for this and Jingim would chose the worst time to be consummating! Byamba did not know whether the Prince was with someone or pleasuring himself before battle but It did not matter for Byamba will drag him by his hair if he'd have to find Latin.

 

Without preamble, Byamba hurriedly made his way to the tent, opening the flaps calling out the Prince's name which quickly died in his throat...

______________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Desperate hands latching themselves into his hair, pulling and tugging until his braids came undone and Jingim could not find himself to care. It only encouraged him to roll his hips more to that shuddering body beneath him, earning a broken sob of his name in response. Jingim was drowning of the lovely, broken, needy noises the Latin was emitting. He is almost keening. 

 

Their cries and panting mingled together in perfect harmony in a whirlwind of lust that Jingim barely heard the soft swish of the fluttering tent flaps opening and the heavy footsteps that soon followed.

 

Something nagged at him, screamed at him in the back of his mind but he was too far gone in the passionate burn he so desperately wanting to alleviate. Jingim was so close to release that he could almost taste it and the Latin was not too far behind. 

 

He was so lost into the inferno he didn't even question why Master Polo had suddenly gone rigid in his arms...

 

“JING..im?!"

 

A sharp gasp escaped the Prince as he jumped completely off of the Latin and backed away wildly as though Marco and the table were on fire. Byamba stood slacked jawed, standing in the entrance of the tent, and gapping at the two of them.

 

"BYAMBA!" Jingim shouted his voice coming out strangely high-pitched trying to regain his composure despite his flushed face and hair tussled loose from their braids, “This...this is defiantly not what it looks like!" It was remarkable how clear he sounded even if he felt his throat had swallowed the entire Gobi Desert. His eyes flickered to the Latin who was still sitting on the table, looking gob smacked with his face flushed and panting. His eyes looked rounder then his father’s China plates.

 

Byamba's face twisting as if he'd lost the ability to form words and Jingim took the opportunity to continue.

 

"You have interrupted my lesson in teaching Mar-the- _Latin_ some...wrestling maneuvers for battle," Jingim hurriedly stammered trying to keep the composure and elegance of the golden mask in place, and not of the man who unwittingly stepped into a line of enemy archers with arrows aiming at his face. His mind was half-frozen trying make his explanation convincing. It was somewhat believable based on their previous position but It was horribly weak. It was a pathetic and even Marco who eventually broke out of his trance sent him an indignant glare and mouthed _“Really?”_

 

He was sweating badly but he could not stop his mouth, "He needs to be well prepared in case he needs to do some..." Jingim swallowed, "wrestling..."

 

A slow blink was the only from Byamba. "Wrestling?"

 

Jingim gave a stiff nod in return. It was pointless since there was no way he could save himself from this humiliation and Byamba was no fool. He saw what he and the Latin were doing. Even Hundred Eyes would _see_ what they were doing. His pride and honor have now been trampled to death as if by horses. He stood stock still, red as a tulip, eyes wide as he helplessly gapped at his brother. 

 

His brother’s face slowly broke into a broad smile and saunter closer, _"Wrestling?"_ He echoed.

 

Jingim breathed through his nose and said nothing not trusting himself to speak. His sweaty palms balled into fist and he suddenly felt lightheaded. Why was he hit by a sudden wave of delirium? Was he going to faint? Was he on a verge of having a fit? Perhaps he was going to keel over and his soldiers would have to shepherd his seizing body out of the ger to the healers and he have to apologize to his father for not leading their touman to Xiangyang, because he had gone inexplicably ill it will not be his fault.

Now he was beginning to wonder if it was _possible_ to die from embarrassment.

 

__

Byamba's smile only grew wider as he laughed, "Wrestling? Oh of course, how kind of the Prince to 'teach' the Latin _“wrestling maneuvers"_ for battle!" He gulped down air he laughs some more, doubling over and wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.

__

The tent was filled with Byamba's nonsensical laughter as Jingim and Marco shot each other worried glances before staring back at the laughing man.

__

"Please, forgive me for interrupting your 'lesson'!” His brother chortled trying to catch his fleeting breath. Byamba's eyes were bright with tears as the braziers illuminating his dark skin flushing with a rosy hue, "I would have you continue," he guffawed, not unable to finish his words.

__

Byamba continued to choke on his laughter breathlessly as both Jingim and Marco remained immobile.

__

"But it seems I have the burden of being the bearer of bad news," Byamba heaved as the mirth in his face and eyes suddenly vanished. The air that was once light and humorous was now ominous and foreboding,"Marco, the engineers are having a great deal of trouble with two of the trebuchets that have been malfunctioning in their aim. The head engineer believes you have instructions written down on your notes to fix them."

__

The flush color of his cheeks drained from his face as Marco blanched. "No," he whispered softly to himself as his hands gripped his hair fisting it tightly. He looked like he was on the verge of losing his sanity, "That is...unfortunate to hear...," he said almost distantly as he jumped from the table. His eyes were wide with fear and Marco gave a shallow bow to Jingim, "It seems I am needed elsewhere. Forgive me, Prince!"

__

With this, Marco dashed passed Byamba to the entrance of the tent.

__

Jingim's eyes lingered to the tent flaps where Marco had scurried off. He wanted nothing more than to run after him but he was barricaded by a smirking seven-foot wall. He glared at his brother who stood unmoving, not wavering from his stance. Dark thick brows were drawn into a fearsome scowl that in battle made countless soldiers quake and tremble under the mercy of the Great Grandson of Genghis Khan. Byamba merely lifted a brow with a wry smile in place.

__

_Bastard_

__

The man breaks into a chuckle, “I have no words honestly."

__

The Prince's scowl deepens deliberately, trying to find the right words to preserve any scrap of dignity he had left. 

__

"Byamba." He said warningly and wincing in hearing a desperate twinge to his voice but Byamba only continued.

__

"I would have never guessed, brother, that you and the Latin-”, Whatever he was going to say stopped short. The smile left his lips slightly and his eyes fell to the floor. Jingim followed Byamba's eyes leading to the forgotten leather pouch on the floor near the table and seeing a little outline of a crucifix peeking out within the folds. The bronze crucifix twinkling merrily from the fire braziers as if it were wanting to make its presence known.

__

_Oh no._

__

"What is _this?"_

__

Byamba rhetorically asked and Jingim felt his joints lock in place. His heart caught in his throat unable to speak as his brother delved down to pick up the pouch before the Prince had any time to react.

__

"You are just full of surprises tonight aren't you, Jingim?" Byamba asked grinned broadly from ear to ear, dangling the crucifix by the leather thread.

__

"Give that back!" Jingim demanded fuming. Rage burning in him like a furnace, his dignity and pride have all been cast to the fires as he launched himself towards his brother to snatch back the crucifix as a cranky child would get back his stolen toy

__

Byamba laughed only raising the crucifix higher. Watching his tiny brother's face redden and fluster while trying in vain to reach the object over his head. The Prince’s hands angrily pawing like a cat with his fingertips barely grazing the tip of the crucifix.

__

Simpler times from their childhood went playing in his mind making Byamba see young Jingim. A boy, who carried himself with such dignity and grace beyond his years along with the indomitable burden of next future Lord of Mongolia weighing heavily on his small shoulders. Large brown eyes brimming with tears silently begging, his little bald head bobbing angrily up and down with his hands desperately reaching for his bone piece as they both wrestled together in the dirt mounds of the steppes. 

__

_Altai_

__

A sharp kick to the shin effectively brought Byamba out of his reverie as he doubled over, dropping the crucifix. 

__

Jingim scrambled to the floor to grab the fallen crucifix and holding it protectively against his chest.

__

Panting heavily, his hair in tangles, Jingim glared savagely at his brother. He could not stop shaking from either rage or mortification, his heart battering inside his chest like a wild ram. 

__

"Enough Byamba, you know what you saw. What are you going to do now?!" he said bitterly. He was not going to play this game of beating around the bush. Jingim was caught with the Latin and there was no point in hiding that fact and he wasn't going to either. What he can do is stay erect and be strong enough to face his brother. 

__

"Do what, Jingim?" Byamba blinked innocently with a tilt of his head, “what I have seen with this...tryst? If so, I would call this divine retribution for interrupting my time with Khutulun!" 

__

The Prince's cheeks burned crimson with humiliation, “What is it that you want, Byamba?", he asked his voice cold and diplomatic with a dangerous edge to it that promises underlying harm in every syllable, “What can I offer you for your silence? A new broadsword? A higher position in the court, perhaps? One hundred herds of horses? A _puppy?_ " 

__

"Wait, what are trying to insinuate?", Byamba asked genuinely confused 

__

"I am insinuating I could give you anything to keep you from blathering off to father of what you just witnessed." 

__

"Are you bribing me?" 

__

"If you want to call it that." 

__

Jingim always had a talent in persuasion when it came to matters of the court, compromising and promises, diplomacy in settling terms with the Song or even Kaidu but he isn't sure it would work with his brother. What Byamba had encountered in the tent will have the Prince forever scorned from laying with a foreigner and Marco will most likely die. This transgression will burden him until he's an old man. Jingim is the Prince, he has everything in his disposal to satisfy his brothers wants, needs and desires to keep him silent. His pride somewhat intact he is not close to begging. At least not yet. 

__

"And you think I'm going tell father about you and Marco?" Byamba murmured pensively. 

__

"Byamba...”, Jingim was shocked. This whole time he thought Byamba was going to go out of his way to ruin him. But the look of the other man's face was one of complete sobriety and determined concern. Somehow all his anger and humiliation seem to just quell as his brother gazed at him with genuine concern for his wellbeing.

__

After that there was a long silence, which Byamba inevitably broke. “,Jingim, what is between you and the Latin is none of my business," He said sympathetically, his eyes world-weary.

__

His heart pounding Jingim let out a breath he didn't know he held. He wasn't so sure he was close to relief of his brother's words for silence but he knows for certain that he is safe, Marco is safe and that is all that matters for now. He looked at his brother with relief and gratitude.

__

"I was just, “Byamba paused. He looked like he was struggling to find the right words, “surprised is all, seeing you with Marco in such a way. I would have never guessed."

__

The Prince flushed and adverted his eyes, “Yes it must have come as a shock to you."

__

"Indeed it was, “Byamba chuckled, “Hearing you for months bemoaning about nothing but contempt for Marco and so eager for him to be put to death for his actions in Xiangyang and now this? It does come out quite a shock."

__

"So what now?" Jingim huffed.

__

"Do you love him?"

__

His chest constricted and the tent seemed smaller around him. Love him? Did he love the Latin? The man who haunted his dreams when he laid with his wife? At night he would see black tresses of Sorga's hair cascade down ornamental pillows flash the bronze curls of the Latin's. The visage of his face panting, moaning underneath him until he became boneless from his touches instead of his wife. The seething resentment he held for Marco had desire and wanting simmering in the surface. 

__

He did not know if it were hatred and simple lust mingled together tormenting his mind. Jingim feared these deviant thoughts and he hoped by putting the man to death will end his turmoil.

__

_You will need it more than I…_

__

Jingim gripped the crucifix tighter, the three points poking between his knuckles.

__

_Green eyes, unwavering as the steppes when he refused._

__

Jingim had thought he would feel light like an enormous weight has been lifted off his shoulders if the man had died. Instead of feeling any gratification, Jingim felt cold and hollow. His heart ached and he could not find any pleasure with his wife. 

__

More than not, he was relieved that his father spared his life but it was at the expense of the Vice Regent Yusuf. It was bittersweet. 

__

Jingim knew he could not have him. Marco was a caged bird, trapped and imprisoned, forever chained. The Prince had gone into Ahmad's treasury to get a golden tablet before he left to Xiangyang with the troops. He was willing to give the Latin his freedom. He was willing to let him go.

__

"I wanted to let him go." He murmured softly. 

__

"Pardon?"

__

Jingim gazed at the forgotten crucifix in his hand that he had stuffed in the leather pouch with the tablet. He finally looked at his brother, "Before he left I tried to give Marco a tablet." He blabbered.

__

"What?!" Byamba flabbergasted.

__

"I had given him a choice of freedom, “Jingim continued, “after the launch of the trebuchets I wanted to reward him for his deeds by giving him the tablet so he can return to Venice and," He cleared his throat as he felt his cheeks warming, “that lead to other _things._ When he refused I was happy that he will not leave me- The _khanate_ that is!” Jingim tried to save himself and he suddenly felt so small in the presence of his brother.

__

"Do I love him? I cannot really answer that. I just want him with me, by my side."

__

Jingim sagged feeling the last remnants of his golden mask crumbling. Confessing to his brother left his heart feeling both light and wounded.

__

"Oh, Cubby!" Suddenly strong arms enveloped him and he was crushed into his brothers armored chest.

__

"Get off me!" Jingim groused, trying to wriggle out of Byamba's embrace like an angry cat. He was flaming with embarrassment as his brother used that damnable childhood nickname. "And do not call me _that!_ " He raged.

__

Byamba only squeezed him tighter and held him closer, “You are such an idiot," he murmured into his hair.

__

"Alright that's enough!", Jingim finally broke free, “I should have not said anything!"

__

"Do not say that! It's refreshing to hear you talking about your feelings other than whining about father and other trivialities".

__

"I do not _whine!_ ", Jingim barked. 

__

"Anyway," Byamba rolled his eyes good naturally than he gripped his shoulders making Jingim look at him, “when you see Marco again I want you to look in his eyes and promise him that you will return to him, as I did with Khutulun," he said gravely, “No doubt he will wait for you."

__

"Yes, I shall do that when I see him," Jingim promised, attempting to hide the nervousness in his voice. He wanted to see the Latin before battle and hoped he would find the courage he needed to say what he wanted once he finds him.

__

"Um Jingim, can I ask you a favor?"

__

"Yes, brother" He knows where this is going judging by the hesitation in Byamba's voice.

__

"Can you try to convince father in readmitting the Ogedei tribe back into the khanate?" Byamba asked his voice oddly sounding small.

__

"This is about Khutulun." Jingim said more of a statement than a question.

__

"Yes," Byamba sighed, “father has banished Kaidu to Karakoram and there will inevitably be a civil war looming over us once we sack Xiangyang. I do not wish to fight her."

__

"Nor will you, brother," Jingim said firmly, laying assuring hand on his brother’s arm,"I will handle father," He said confidently trying not to think of his father's nightstand flying at his head, "right now let us just get through this war."

__

"Agreed," Byamba nodded wrapping a comforting arm around Jingim's shoulder as they both walked out of the ger.

__

Jingim tucked the crucifix in his armor as both walked around the war camp. Every step his heart felt light with flurries of emotions settled heavily in his mind. Trepidation, assurance, doubt, hope weighed over him as the moonlight sent a luminescent glow over the steppes as if to cast away the darkness of his worries.

__

He heard the thunderclaps of the flaming projectiles being launched by the trebuchets pounding the wall relentlessly with no abandon.

__

Jingim's eyes trailed towards the engineers and saw Marco among them. His eyes clouded with fear and determination as he pulled the lever of the machines setting it to launch.

__

Jingim was inspired by this man for his ingenious inventions which will lead his people to victory with every blow of the projectiles. Marco was nothing more than a cowering waif of a man when his father had forsaken him to the court of Khans. Despite being discarded in a foreign land, the man had never given up, had earned his prestige with honor, and worked his way up quicker than anyone that Jingim had ever seen.

__

His status as an outsider weighing, Marco had never given up and fought by his side in Xiangyang resulting mass losses and painful wounds. Despite Jingim sentencing Marco to death he still did not resent him and will still be by his side in the coming battles when swords are unsheathed. It was so much more than Jingim deserved from him. He felt a swell of pride and deviation in his chest seeing Marco struggle yet continue to fight.

__

This is how Marco had survived this long. This determination helped him survive for this long, thriving against all odds even if the war was not his. It did not matter, for Jingim will fight for him. He was worth fighting for.

__

He gazed at Marco one last time before his eyes descended to his troops lying in wait for their Golden Prince. A surge of confidence flooded his veins as he walked towards his men.

__

_I will come for you._

__

 

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Mongolian traditions, when you see a shooting star it means bad luck because all the stars represent souls up in the sky. So when a star is falling it means an omen someone will die! Lol
> 
> Morin khuur is basically a Mongolian fiddle and Batzorig Vaanchig is Mongolian throat singing!
> 
> "Cubby" is just a shoutout from the show "Everybody Loves Raymond" when Robert being the tall older brother always calls Raymond that. I thought it seemed fitting based on their dynamics!


	4. Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a short chapter, sorry. It's just Marco lamenting on Jingim :(

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I planned on making this chapter longer as a two parter and having this be 2nd to the last chapter. So instead of 5 chapters I'm going to have 6! It will take me a long time to update frequently with school and I have a job now. Enjoy! And thanks Mischief11

As he stared up at the pre-dawn sky, Marco was certain God was laughing at him. After Byamba discovered them, Marco ran out of the tent much like a bat from hell, blindly running around, half hard around the encampment to find his tent and to retrieve his journal. He ran back to the line of engineers only to find arrows raining down because of the Song archers took advantage of their halted progress to fire back.

Humiliated and ashamed, Marco was able to keep face and not think about Jingim, or their kiss, of how his body still ached for him or how Byamba had caught them.

He did not think of their little assignation when there was so many important things at stake. Marco had plenty on his shoulders and getting the aim fixed on the trebuchets was much higher on his list of priorities that he must not dwell on what happened in the ger.

Marco kept a level head, his heart and mind clear and tranquil. His days spent under the backbreaking training with Hundred Eyes was not only Kung Fu but also mediation. When the blind monk was not training the man to an exhausted lump on the floor he also trained him on Chán of some form of meditation. It helped him keep a calm and collected no matter the crises may arise in any situation.

He maintained focus on the task at hand between keeping an eye of the arrows and fixing the aim however it proven to be quite difficult with that drunken naked soldier on the lose causing mayhem making things more galling with the distractions.

After grueling hours until the moon receded far from the sky and the sun peaked over the horizon, Marco and the engineers finally fixed the machine as it continued to do their damaged.

Marco was beyond exhausted as he leaned his back against on of the machines. His lids felt heavy and he longed for a nap but his job was far from over. The song archers had longed seized firing and retreated back into the walls while a handful of Mongol soldiers who are stationed to guard him and the engineers went back to the line with the Prince. Marco had remained in place with Talib who was at the far end and chatting with a group of his workers and Hundred Eyes had lingered about and Marco tried his best to ignore that oh so knowing smile on his face when he turned to him.

It was undeniable the blind monk knew he and the Prince were doing and Marco was too exhausted to even care to feel any shame.

All he felt was numbness. The numbness from his aching hands faded as once ugly red blisters blossomed into open sores with his old flesh curling outwards and the raw new pink tissue gleaming wet inside the small pockets of his palms like some sort of grotesque flowers.

He grimaced at the poor state of his abused hands from pulling the lever all night, it is going to be painful holding the sword in battle. _Yes, battle_ As much as Marco enjoyed sitting bonelessly on the ground like an abandoned doll, his task was over with the trebuchets and he must now attend to the front line with the touman. With the Prince.

He wasn't thrilled facing Jingim. A bit apprehensive but he would be lying if it were just that only feeling but he was scared. Scared of what he might face in seeing him. Would he be the same resentful, ill tempered man? Or would he end up with a sword in his back? Marco could not possibly predict the Prince's mercurial moods that were as mutable as the ocean tides or forever shifting as the desert sands.

Or would he be the same Jingim he had encounter under the full moon inside his ger? The one who had him hard and wanting, writhing in pleasure under his hands. The new playful Jingim who drove him to pure madness as he laid helpless on the table like a spoil of war. The man who had him moaning, begging and almost losing all self control.

Marco felt ire build up in the pit of his stomach. How could he have let Jingim take a advantage of him like that? True he was caught off guard but that is no excuse, he had been caught off guard numerous times and he was able to pull himself together and fight back.

_But a part of you wants it_

He hated his contradictory part of his mind so much, especially when it sounded like Jingim. There as a small part, an inkling that wanted the Prince to take him. To hear his husky voice whispering his desired in his ears, his brown eyes sparkling with mirth and mischief rather than the dark shadow of seething resentment that was always aimed towards him. His beautiful laughter he emitted made Marco's heart soar and tethered him to the earth as Jingim held him in his arms.

The spell was broken when Byamba came to seek him out. Marco was beyond mortified yet at the same time fortuitous it was only Byamba rather than one of the soldiers or the Khan himself. A cold fear shot through him as he tried not to think what if the Khan had walked in on him fooling around with his son. The Khan had bashed a man's skull with a ladle made of a scrotum from an elephant to set Marco an example when he _lied_ to him. He lied to preserve Jingim's honor of the account of the feast. What worse would he have done if he caught Marco, a simple slave, tarnishing his golden son. 

All he can do is thank The Three Sisters it was only Byamba and not his father. Byamba was trustworthy and despite all their strifes, genuinely loved Jingim and would not throw the both of them under the hooves of horses by telling the great Khan of what he saw, no matter how irritating Jingim may be to him. He was still his brother. The feeling of disquietude had lessen when he spotted Jingim and his brother exited the tent walking towards the line of soldiers.

He should have felt peace seeing nothing has gone unchanged and the brothers seemed to have reconciled whatever matters in the tent. Byamba looked at ease and so did Jingim. From his eyes everything looked swell. Peachy even. Why is his heart aching? Jingim looked unruffled and Byamba isn't going to tell the Khan but for some unexplained reason he felt his heart crumbling. It is ridiculous! What happened between the in the ger was nothing. Only two men quarreling and taking their anger, hate, resentment and belligerent frustration out on each other. Like they have done numerous times and right before they departed to Xiangyang in the dojo.

Only with kissing.

And grinding.

 _It was nothing! It meant nothing! It was a heated encounter, nothing more_ Marco tried telling himself. Trying ease the pain in his heart and berating himself for acting like a spurned lover. The man had three wives and soon to be four since Marco is not leaving with Kokachin as he planned. His thoughts leading to Kokachin, he had no idea what he was going to do with her. He still loved her with all his being, that had not changed one bit. He was debating if this is a good sign or horrifying.

Now with Jingim...

_No, it was nothing. It meant nothing_

If he kept repeating it to himself than he would start believing it.

He hoped.

He started to get aggravated with himself. Marco should not be dawdling by himself and lamenting on how he managed to get himself sucked into this strange masochistic, polyamorous hell.

"How long are you going to wallow in your self-pity, Marco?" Marco almost jumped out of his skin in hearing the disembodied voice of Hundred Eyes behind him. He cursed himself internally, for giving a embarrassing reaction and leaving himself vulnerable and open. Other times he would have heard the blind monk with his training blindfolding method which helped strengthen his hearing, but he was all to busy drowning in his torturous thoughts and licking his wounds.

"Hello, Sifu," Marco said dully. For the first time he wasn't in the mood in hearing cryptic advices and much rather play with the dew covered grass he was sitting on.

Hundred Eyes sighs long and deep before plopping to sit next to Marco. "I don't know if you are more pitiful now or from when you first arrived. Must you always go after the fruit from the forbidden tree or are you nothing more than a child grasping for any piece of affection no matter where it is found?" 

Marco ducked his head, anger fueling him under the older man's words and stayed silent. He was definitely not in the mood.

"No, I think you are more like the child who begs for affection and than whelps and hides when faced with more than he can handle. Is that all you are able to do, Polo?"

He gnashed his teeth in rage as he glared at his teachers unseeing milky eyes. "I am sure you have not forgotten my position in this! I am a mere servant and he is the Prince. What am I expected to do? Cling to the man's knees?"

"No. Stand up straight and make your desires known or else they will rot in the shadows. What will become of you than? The blind man asked with a neutral voice.

"What would become of me?!," Marco seethed. "I would either be dead or his whore, there is no place for me in his heart."

"If you honestly believe that, Latin, than you are blinder than I am." His eyes crinkled as his lips curved into an enigmatic smile, finding humor in Marco's distraught state.

Marco pressed his lips together in irritation and the blind monk continued,"If the Prince held no feeling for you than he would have never given you his notice. There is indeed a fine line between love and hate and you have toed it since your arrival. You can keep dancing on the line until you fall or you can take what you Christians say? A leap of faith."

The Latin swallowed around the depth of the man's words before turning back to look at the Prince who was commanding his troops. "You're saying I should brave the possibilities and leap?"

"It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly." The monk stated as he delved inside his robes and handed Marco a small package tied with a simple thread.

"Nourishment is for the soul, let it ease your troubled thoughts." Hundred said before silently walking away.

Marco's mouth watered, smelling the delicious aroma coming from the package.

_Salt cakes_

"Thank you, Sifu!" He says breathlessly. How long since he had last eaten? Marco had not eaten since leaving with the touman to Xiangyang. And that was almost a day ago.

Marco hastily unwrapped the package and didn't bother to fight back his chuckle when he saw that one of the salt cakes had bite mark in it. Marco shoved one of the pastries into his mouth moaning as he chewed. He was not ashamed of his boorish display when realizing how hungry he was. Marco's taste buds was assaulted by the sweet and salty flavor of his cake that danced happily on his tongue. The cakes were almost as delicious as his mother's homemade black berry, sun flower seed, fruit tarts he was fond of when he was a little boy.

The food filled Marco's aching belly making him feel a bit giddy. The salt cakes did their job in easing his worries as it settled heavily in his stomach. A cloud of uncertainty still hovered heavily on his mind of the fear of the unknown. The thoughts of what will happened once the Mongols sack Xiangyang or what await for them it they all make it out alive was all coiled together in an endless streams in Marco's mind.

What would become of him and the Prince? Would he be the same hostile bitter man to him or show him indifference? Would Kokachin still be waiting for him to return to the Cambulac?

He did not know.

Marco only looked at the lavender sky as if it were to give him the answers he so desperately seeks.


End file.
